


Pies

by BAMF_BlueEyedAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas bakes, Dean won't let him anymore though, Fluff, Pies, lots and lots of pies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2477261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BAMF_BlueEyedAngel/pseuds/BAMF_BlueEyedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is baking in order to surprise Dean. And man is he surprised... at how terrible Cas is at baking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pies

The Impala rolled down the tunnel leading to the bunker’s garage. Thank god there was somewhere to park Baby. She was too good to be left out in the cold. Dean pulled into the spot next to Dorothy’s bike and cut the engine.

He rubbed the dash lovingly. “Night beautiful.”

***

The stench of something burning hit Dean as soon as he opened the door. He followed the haze of smoke until he found Sam sitting in front of his laptop. His brother had his shirt pulled up over his nose.

“The hell happened in here?” Dean choked out.

Sam pulled his shirt off his face. “Cas happened.” Back up went the shirt.

“What did he do, blow up the kitchen?”

Shirt down. “Pretty much.” He leaned back in his chair. “He's uh… he's baking.” Shirt up.

“Cas can bake?”

Sam abandoned his shirt mask altogether. He spread his arms to encompass the room and raised his eyebrows. “I said he's baking. Doesn’t mean he can.”

“What’s he making? Or _trying_ to make anyway.”

“No idea. He locked the door and won't let me in there. I tried to get in when the smoke started pouring out. He flipped.”

“Ok. Well you start clearing out the smoke, I’ll go talk to him.”

***

Dean reached the kitchen and began pounding on the door. “Cas!” No response. “Come on man open up!” Silence. “Open up or I'm kicking the damn door in!”

“No!”

“One!”

“Dean no!”

“Two!”

“Stop counting!”

“Three!” His boot met the door and it flew open. Dean attempted to wave away the thick smoke. When it finally cleared enough to see, his eyes widened comically. “Son of a bitch…”

It really did seem like Cas had blown the kitchen up. And then a tornado had gone through afterwards. All manner of pots, pans, spoons, and measuring cups were strewn all over the floor. Flour covered every inch… of everything. Including Cas, whose head peeked around the corner of the counter.

“Dean.”

“Cas…”

Neither spoke for several long seconds.

“Uh Cas… what are you doing?”

Castiel surveyed the room. “Nothing.”

“Oh yeah this… this looks like nothing.”

Standing, Cas rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Perhaps it is something.”

“Really.” Dean's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It was supposed to be a surprise…”

“Oh I’m surprised. What are you doing?” he repeated.

The buzzer on the oven went off and Castiel grabbed oven mitts and rushed to open the door, letting out another cloud of smoke.

“Cas. What the hell are you making?”

“Hang on!”

Dean had to admit it was kind of adorable how excited Cas was. Well not adorable. He didn’t use words like that. Unless he was talking about himself. He was extremely adorable.

“Here.” He strode towards Dean with what had to be the ugliest pie – was it a pie? – and the biggest smile he’d ever seen.

“It’s a pie.” It came out more like a question. Seriously, it didn’t look like a pie.

“Yes.”

“You made a pie.”

“I made twelve.”

“You… Twelve?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You like pie.” His eyes roved over the pie before meeting Dean’s again. “Do you not still like pie?”

“Yeah! Course I do. I love… pie.” _Except this is not pie Cas, I don’t know what it is._ “So what’s with the sudden Martha Stewart phase?”

“Who’s Martha Stewart?”

“Never mind. What kind did you make?”

Castiel began ticking them off on his fingers. “Blueberry, cherry, apple, strawberry, peach, blackberry, banana cream, key lime, pecan, pumpkin, raspberry, and rhubarb.”

“Wow…”

“Which would you like to eat first?”

“First? Cas I can't eat twelve pies!”

“Oh…”

Guilt hit Dean like a truck. _You're killin’ me man._ He sighed heavily. “Apple I guess.”

A fork was shoved into Dean's hand and Cas went to find the apple pie.

“I think this is the right one,” he said as he returned, burnt pastry in hand.

“You think?”

Cas's eyes flicked back and forth between the (possibly) apple pie and the ones littering the counter. “Yes I believe so.”

“Alright…” Dean stabbed his fork into the thick crust at the center, and removed an unfortunately large piece. He said a quick prayer to no one in particular, and lifted the fork to his mouth.

It was probably the worst thing Dean had ever tasted in his life. Which was saying something, considering he practically lived off of diner and gas station food. He bravely fought the urge to spit it out.

A look of worry flickered in Cas's eyes and Dean forced himself to swallow the abomination.

“Hot…”

“My apologies.”

“It’s… it’s good though. Never tasted anything like it.” He smiled, which probably looked more like a grimace, but thankfully Cas didn’t seem to notice.

“Which do you wish to try next?”

“Next?” _Please, no more_. “You know, Cas… I think we should clean up in here first, don’t you? It’s kind of a disaster zone. And I should probably wait till they cool off a bit more anyway. They're pretty… hot still. We can have them for dessert maybe.”

Cas, unsuccessfully, hid his disappointment.

“Hey, come on.” Dean wiped a smudge of flour off Cas's cheek. “I promise I’ll try them all. Ok?”

“Ok.” His face lit up with excitement again. “Can I prepare dinner?!”


End file.
